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The street had quietened, hammering ceased as the labourers all squinted over at the commotion, hawkers shaking their heads.
Retrieving Seth’s muddied hat and cane, the baronet then wiped them with a handkerchief whilst the countess gathered the strewn daisies.
Matilda noted Seth’s lips were tight, his habitually straight shoulders hunched as he thanked the baronet for the return of his possessions and fervently assured them all that he was unhurt.
Drizzle had coated each one of them in sparkles of silver, hair tipped with sudden age, and a bitter cold suffused Matilda – icy fingers clawing their way to her soul.
Her bedraggled reticule appeared before her. “Matilda dear,” whispered Mrs Ashby. “You must both come in from the rain. For some tea. You can change into dry clothes.”
That curious weakness amplified, a sensation that her sodden skirts were towing her down, all too weighty, and she could barely summon the resolve to reply.
But a firm palm clasped her waist and she glanced up, took strength from Seth’s touch and patient hazel eyes. For all their hostess’s goodwill and kindness, Matilda just wished to be alone with Seth. To go home.
“Thank you, Mrs Ashby, for your kindness. Thank you everyone, but…but I believe we should return home. We are fine. Merely shaken, I think.”
“Well, if you are sure, Matilda. But if there is anything at all you need, do send word.”
The good people all reiterated Mrs Ashby’s offer before drifting away to their various coaches, shaking their heads, demeanours subdued, and Seth opened his own carriage door for Matilda to ascend.
Acutely aware of his wince as he pitched heavily into the seat, she sat beside him, skirts soggy.
The door slammed shut and grave blue eyes appeared at the open window, lips parted in a pant. “I’ll take the reins. How are yer, lass?”
“I can’t seem to stop my hands trembling, Mr Finlay, but I’m unhurt, thank you.” She fumbled with her bonnet ribbons and discarded the damp item to the opposite seat. “That was your shout I heard, was it not?”
“Aye. But it was Seth that got yer out the way of those hooves. Seth? Yer all good?”
A tight nod was his sole answer, which she presumed meant ‘adequate’ in man speak.
Mr Finlay disappeared from view, and after a brief rock of the carriage as he ascended to the coachman’s seat, the horses snorted and the carriage lurched into motion.
She leaned into Seth and his fingers caught her shoulder, drew her closer. He must have felt her uncontrollable quiver as he touched a palm to her hair and stroked, loosening her chignon.
“Seth?” she said softly, glancing up. “That horseman tried to grab me, didn’t he?”
The wheels jolted over cobbles and he grunted but cocked his head in that way Matilda had become so fond of. “Yes, Matilda, and at that speed, on that horse, he’d be miles away by now.”
“But you saved me.” She cupped his jaw. “Didn’t you?” And with a light caress, she released him to bury her head once more within that striped waistcoat, to seek his warmth.
Lips murmured in her hair. Had she heard a whisper of… Always.
“But surely my cousin would not resort to this?” she mumbled into the silk. “My marriage can’t be that important.”
Seth’s hand halted its motion to slide around and tip her chin. His lips firmed.
“That is what we must discover, Matilda.”
